NOTE: This chapter is a bit different than some of the previous ones. It's obviously more action-packed, this is a Terminator fic after all, but the romantic aspect will continue. It's also considerably longer than the previous chapters. I'm very curious to see what people think of this chapter, as I'm not entirely convinced I can write good action scenes.

Chapter 8

Cameron reminded him of the desert which surrounded them. Like this dry, dusty place, she was warm one moment, smiling and happy and frigid the next, once again reminding him that underneath her beautiful figure lay that cold, calculating machine. John had wrestled with his desire for her, tried to fight against it and finally given in. Watching her like this, moving silently through the darkness as if she were some kind of nocturnal predator brought the question to his conscious mind. Why had his future-self sent her?

It had been obvious all along, though he had denied the conclusion as too logical, too calculating even for his counterpart in the years to come. Always everything seemed to lead to the creation of John Connor. Everything that happened seemed designed to engineer him, to build him in a manner not so different from that of a machine. Were he to find a human girlfriend, were he to fall in love with such, she would only die sooner rather than later, causing all sorts of mental and emotional anguish, threatening the creation of the "great" John Connor. Cameron was a different matter, however. She would never leave him even if he tried to push her away, she was hardened against all manner of threats, and no matter how he tried, he could not resist her. Simply sending a machine, a regular terminator, might have protected him, but it wouldn't have created him.

From her he would learn, at the most personal of levels, precisely how the machines thought, how they processed information, and how they even felt. In a sense it was as if he were becoming such a thing himself. Fate seemed to have him cornered, but for the first time he didn't mind, he didn't feel the weight of the future upon him. He would win, one way or another, in the past or in the future; Skynet would fall.

As they continued their silent trek across the desert floor, John could see her eyes flicking his way sometimes, stealing glances, longing for him. Who would have thought a machine could feel this way? But it was true, it was genuine, and he couldn't deny it. If anyone were qualified to assess the emotional states of these machines, it was him.

"The trail ends up there." Her voice whispered, pointing to an old, dusty airport a few miles west of the China Lake facility. The airport appeared to have once been a part of the base, but had been since converted to a underused civilian strip. Ill-maintained concrete buildings and rusty hangers were strewn about it in an almost haphazard fashion, a few light planes parked near the cluster of buildings.

"How can you tell? I haven't seen any tracks for miles."

"I can tell." Was her only reply.

"This all seems weird. What's going on?" He asked, hoping she had more to tell.

"I don't know. If Sarkissian were selling the Turk to the military, it is unlikely they would conduct the transaction here." She observed. A small aircraft buzzed overhead, seemingly patrolling the area. The military had no need for a single-engine puddle-jumper to do reconnaissance work, so it had to be Sarkissian's people, but why? As if sensing his thoughts Cameron turned to him and cocked her head in that manner of hers.

"I think I have a hunch," she began, emphasizing the word, "whoever was piloting that plane was looking for us."

"That's stating the obvious, not a hunch, but I was thinking the same thing."

"Is it acceptable to be worried now?" She asked quizzically.

"Yeah.. it is," he answered, "what's worrying you?"

"You." Before she could elaborate, her finger touched her lips in that universal gesture of silence. Instinctively, John fell to the dirt, keeping himself hidden from view. Cameron remained standing in plain view, assuming a seductive pose that accentuated her curves flawlessly. He couldn't help but admire her beautiful form and the expert ability with which she made use of it. From the distance a four-wheel drive truck, covered in grime and rust came bounding across the desert, seemingly patrolling the area. Bright light covered her form as the truck slowed upon seeing her, and for a moment she looked almost angelic, serene and innocent. The effect was perfect, and the vehicle had only barely come to a stop before two goons stepped out, obviously excited by the prospect of a little fun, both carrying stripped down semi-automatic PS90s. John laughed under his breath; Cameron would know what to do with them...

..."Humans can be so foolish." Cameron observed as she shifted into park, ignoring the guards patrolling the runway outside, gazing at the truck with questioning looks.

"Yeah. A pretty girl will do that every time." John observed.

"Do I do that to you?" She asked as she inspected the submachine gun disapprovingly. John's face flushed with scarlet tones as he turned away, unable to reply.

When John didn't answer, she turned the gun over casually and inserted a fresh magazine. "Fabrique Nationale de Herstal FN-PS90. Inferior version of the military-grade P90. Semi-Automatic with 30-round magazine. Inefficient."

"Yeah. But this version is legal." John replied, slinging the strap over his shoulder and reaching for the door handle. "Try not to kill anyone if you don't have to."

Cameron responded by opening the door and shooting the nearest guard in kneecap. Within moments the efficient killing machine was neutralizing the remaining guards, dancing about them, among them, firing with graceful precision. She was his Angel of Death, relentless and cold, yet agile and beautiful. The future-leader didn't even find the opportunity to fire his weapon once.

"No casualties." She reported, business-like, pointing to a large, decaying concrete structure. "I can hear Sarah's voice from that bunker." Something in her voice betrayed a sense of worry.

"That was too easy." John frowned. It wasn't supposed to be this easy. So far he had encountered nothing his mother couldn't handle alone, much less anything that could faze both her and Derek. Cameron effortlessly swung open the steel blast door on the decommissioned bunker and stepped inside warily, her eyes scanning the immediate surroundings for any threats.

"It really is a neat trick, isn't it?" Came Sarah's voice from behind her. Cromartie ripped the gun from her hands and turned it on John, who barely ducked behind the blast door in time. Moments later Cameron's hands found the weapon again, and the two machines struggled silently over it, tearing it apart with brute strength as they threw each other about. John sprayed the other machine with bullets, aiming for Cromartie's head, tearing flesh and hair in a great cloud of red. Angrily the assassin turned towards him, ducking under the spray of bullets and reaching for his shirt, throwing John against the wall.

Cromartie kicked Cameron's midsection with immense strength, throwing her body into a series of power cables. Electricity arced everywhere as her body shut down, falling to the floor with a dull thud. Before John could react, the terminator slapped the machine gun away with one deft, powerful move. Barely ducking out from under the machine's next blow, his hands latched onto a steel pipe. The blast door shut behind him.

120 seconds for Cameron to reboot. That was an eternity for a human locked in combat with a terminator, an armored, relentless killing machine bent on his blood. As if savoring the moment of triumph, as if squaring off against his final foe, Cromartie stood motionless, eying his prey. A hint of a sadistic smile twitched from the corners of his bloodied mouth, reflections of crimson and chrome showing fragments of the skeletal monstrosity below. John held the massive steel pipe behind him, calculating his next move, knowing he could not simply escape. The future-leader has learned from the machines he had encountered before, he had studied their motions, their weaknesses, their flaws. A sort of hyper-awareness came over him in that moment, a cold, calculating precision overtook his mind as he circled around the motionless machine in the manner of a predator.

Cromartie lunged forward, pistons and servos responding with raw mechanical force, propelling him forward with incredible, inhuman speed. Skynet's chosen machine reached out its hand, prepared to squeeze the life-force from this weak human. John neatly side-stepped the killing machine, letting the irresistible momentum carry it forward, revealing its backside to the future-leader. Even terminators were slaves to the laws of physics, such a heavy construct moving at such velocity couldn't exactly turn on a dime. Steel crashed against flesh and metal as the pipe came around in the manner of a baseball bat connecting with an easy pitch. Cromartie's head, already damaged from previous encounters, bent forward at an odd, unnatural angle as servos whirred loudly, trying to restore the machine's metallic skull to its proper location.

Sliding to a halt, the grotesque cyborg reached for his own head, cracking it back into place with a sickening crunch of steel and torn flesh. Its eyes met John's and the hatred that burned within them was unmistakable, its need for blood laid bare in its crimson gaze. John held the pipe beside him again, knowing the same trick couldn't work a second time. Yet there was no fear in him, no emotion. Everything in his life had built up to this moment, this very personal face-off with his enemy. Training in the jungles of South America governed his movements, remembrance of the battles against the terrible T-1000 prototype guided his awareness, knowledge imparted to him by all those who fought beside him flowed through him. He knew in that moment that his destiny was undeniable, unshakable. He was John Connor.

Again the machine charged for him, this time slower, more cautiously, watching John's movements for any hint of motion. Swinging the pipe down as if desperately trying to ward of the attack, John brought up his left hand, holding a large bowie knife he carried with him, and stabbed for the terminator's eye socket. Wedging it with all the force he could manage, the knife stuck in Cromartie's eye, disabling a sensor. Yet the mechanical assassin had not been entirely fooled. One hand grabbed onto the pipe, ripping it from John's hand while the other viciously backhanded the teenager across the room, lifting him into the air with immense strength, sending his body pinwheeling across the floor, coming to rest with a sickening crack against the cement wall. Yet John made no sounds indicating the pain he felt. He struggled to his feet as the machine tore the knife from its damaged eye-socket, holding it in its right hand, prepared to carve John's flesh with the instrument.

Cromartie's skull twitched and spasmed as sensors and servos malfunctioned, but the terminator seemed not to notice or care, intent on its programmed mission. Out of options John simply stood motionless, like a machine, cold and distant. He reached for his switchblade, knowing the puny weapon to be useless against such power, but not caring. Never give up, never stop fighting. The axiom was so ingrained into his awareness as to preclude any other option.

Before Skynet's assassin could lunge forward, Cameron was there, rushing to John's defense with an expression born of terrible fear, her eyes glowing from deep within as she exerted herself to her limits. John held the tiny switchblade before him as Cromartie reached for his throat, only to be intercepted by Cameron's hand. Metal groaned in protest as she wrenched the arm in a circular motion, bending the metal within, crushing servos and wires. Her eyes glowed even brighter in intense anger as she tore the arm loose, watching it dangle uselessly from the remnants of skin and flesh. Before Cromartie could respond, she twisted his damaged skull around and tore the head loose from its endoskeleton, severing the wires connecting the assassin's CPU to its power source. Still the red eyes glowed and the body moved, trying to put itself back together. Cameron threw the metallic, blood-covered skull against the cement wall, sending shards of concrete flying everywhere.

Every step betraying her intense rage, she moved toward the barely-functioning, disembodied skull, and crushed it. Red eyes faded. But she did not stop there, viciously kicking the remains, stomping on the metal shape, smashing it more with every strike. Anger seemed to flow from her, stunning John from his battle-trance. He moved towards her, careful to avoid her rapidly flailing limbs, gently touching upon her shoulder.

"It's okay Cam, he's dead. Terminated."

"It's not okay," she replied with a surprising amount of desperate emotion, "he nearly killed you." She embraced him, and for a moment, despite the terrible strength and anger she had just displayed, John could almost forget she too was a terminator. He supposed that if she were human, she would have cried, but instead she stood there, her arms wrapped around him protectively, her hands sliding gently up and down his back.

"Thanks." He said softly as they finally broke the long embrace. "We've gotta find mom and Derek though... I'm sure that thing didn't get them... I hope..." His voice cracked slightly.

"You lasted 72.6 seconds alone, in close physical combat with a terminator. That is unusually long for a human." Cameron observed, her voice betraying a hint of some emotion. Was it pride?

"About that... Doesn't it normally take 120 seconds for a reboot cycle?" John replied, ignoring the fact that Cameron was deliberately flattering him to keep him from worrying. It was best to let her think she had succeeded for now.

"I skipped a few steps." She replied, a guarded expression overtaking her features.

"Didn't know you could do that."

"Neither did I." Her voice was soft and there was adoration in her eyes. "There are a lot of things I didn't know I could do," she finished, reaching for his hand without really thinking about it.